


Words

by jessahmewren



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fix-It, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Classic fix-it for the train scene in "The Pacific." Just a little fix-it drabble.





	Words

-0-0-0-

Snafu stood there holding the bar above him as the train jostled him in the early morning hours.  He could hear it chewing track, grinding to a halt in the muggy jungle of New Orleans, exhaling steam in frustrated huffs, snuffing like an overworked horse.  

Eugene slept by the window. His face, pale and in soft relief against the cool pane, was a profile he knew well.  He could trace it in the dark, with his hand outstretched, shoulder to shoulder in a foxhole with bullets parting their hair.

Something quick and sharp tugged at him, an emotion he was wholly unfamiliar with.  It stole the end of his breath, manifested in wet eyes that he hastily swatted at and settled like lead in his gut.   _No,_ was its name…had to be…because that’s the only word that bloomed on his consciousness now.  It wormed its way from the depths until it was the only thing he could think: a simple, mad, incantation.   _No no no no no…_

People were squeezing passed him now, struggling to get off the train.  He still held the bar in a sweaty hand.  Outside, the lights of New Orleans were jaundiced and not at all inviting.

The porter approached him. “Son?  This your stop?”  

He nodded dumbly.  

“It’s time to go then.”

_No._

“Gene.”  

His lips were dry. Eugene stirred in his sleep, perfectly at peace, his face relaxed.  When would he see this face again?  Could he even sleep without the warm weight of Eugene propped against him?  Without his whispered prayers, his slow, measured breaths at least within earshot?

Snafu’s grip on the bar began to grow tighter as the train emptied out.  

“Last Call for New Orleans,” The porter cried out, causing Snafu to start.  His large eyes took in the sleeping Eugene, then glanced at the porter.

“No,” he said aloud.  “I’m good.”  

Just then, Eugene began to stir.  He looked up at Snafu, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  “You ok Snaf?”

Snafu smiled, finally settling back into the seat next to Eugene.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I’m just fine.”  

The soft smile made his heart twist a little, the blonde lashes catching the overhead light. Eugene looked a little hesitantly at his hands.  “Is it about time for you to go,” he asked a little dolefully.  

Snafu pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. “I changed my plan.”  Eugene was watching him with wide eyes.  “Figured I would go see this big Alabama spread of a friend of mine.  Fella never shut up about it.”  

The grin on Eugene’s face cut wide, and before he knew it, Snafu was taken up into Eugene’s arms in a firm hug.  There was no one else on the train.  He allowed himself to relax into the embrace, to feel the warmth of his arms, to bask in the scent of him.  

And Snafu found a new word, rising up to squash the other one.  One that he didn’t have much experience with, but one that he could get very used to:  _Yes._

-0-0-0-


End file.
